When the Man Comes Around
by MsFeliciaCresent
Summary: "You're not just going to make me feel and then leave... you can't do this to me... not after everything we've been through together..." And her dry sobs echoed throughout the trees, a sure sign that letting go is always the hardest part. Some strong language. OC/?
1. Bury Me Not

**A/N: ****Yes well knew story and all that. Sorry for those endlessly waiting on the POTC fic, i tend to update when the mood takes me, rude of me i know but i'm writing a new chapter. For those about to read this current story i beg your indulgence and mercy for just a moment as in the fact that this has taken me considerably longer than i first anticipated. It wasn't those 'oh i had the idea and just had to get it down'. Enjoy. **

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own the Walking Dead or its characters. I wouldn't fucking be writing about it if i did. **

**This song was inspired by Johnny Cash's - The Man Comes Around.**

* * *

And I heard as it were the noise of thunder  
One of the four beasts saying come and see and I saw  
And behold a white horse

Life was a cruel thing, wasn't it?

I speak in the past tense for this ain't living no more.

This is just surviving, our own basic instinct helping us push on, giving us that little nudge forward and driving us to survive another day.

I never was a god preaching woman, but the heavens sure pissed on us when they delivered unto us this.

Reach out and touch faith right?

* * *

The shovel landed with a thud to the side as I threw it down haphazardly. Using the ripped sleeve of my worn duster coat I wiped my brow of sweat as clean as I could, coughing up some dirt and something else nasty. The sun continued to beat down on me and the hairs on my forehead and the back of my neck clung to my damp burnt skin, the collar of my coat rubbing against the back of my neck uncomfortably every time I moved my head. The grubby jeans and tattered blouse weren't much better too, covered in dried dirt, soil, and heaven knows what else I looked like I'd been dragged through hell and back. I had been really. I sighed with exasperation, taking off my hat and running my fingers through my short shabby hair, ruffling it a little like a father would do to a son. I keep my hat to my chest in a sign of respect. It was the least I could offer.

I stared on at the grave in front of me and bowed my head. It was no use crying, I don't think my body could spare the moisture anyway. I didn't know the man personally, but I saw as he got bit. Cleared the walkers no trouble, but it wasn't them that was the problem anymore. I offered the lone man what apologies I could, and though he begged me to leave him and let him go… to help him find his family, to give him a second chance… I gave him my first and only gift. That of an eternal rest.

I donned my hat and gave a small salute before turning my back from this empty field and moving on. It's how I live. I wake up in some tree or shabby makeshift tent hoping that this isn't _that _day, I go hunting or scavenging trying to avoid all possible contact with anything living or dead, travel as far as my legs can take me which is normally on the verge of collapse, find some tree or shabby makeshift tent and hope that it isn't _that _night and then repeat. It was never anything glamorous before-hand, living in a high security prison for mentally incapacitated women on an island for 23 years weakens your idea of luxury somewhat, and that was before the outbreak. If I go without having to starve myself in order to reach a set destination then I'm having a damn good day. I haven't had a good day in weeks.

* * *

I do my regular check of the area first. It's the most important job. I don't mind a few walkers, they can be disposed of quickly or just ignored if I play my cards right. I don't want anything alive too close either, so any signs of the living around I head straight in the other direction ASAP. I set up a small fire in a dirty pit, barely embers but enough to keep me warm. I normally manage to find some blankets and sheets to set up a tent or if not I sleep on the ground bareback. Either way it's nothing fancy. The rocks, bricks and sticks dig into your back something chronic, and when it rains you start to wish the walkers or bandits would just end it already. I never have the balls to do it myself.

I stare into the fire mindlessly, wringing my hands as I sit on a rain dampened log contemplating the events that happened that day. Thoughts powered through my mind like Trojan horses and it was a sign that sleep would not come easy to me tonight. I lean over and reach into my small, ripped pack and rummage around for a packet of cigarettes. After a few moments of mindlessly fumbling and scratching my hand on a sharp tin, my fingers brush across a cheaply small cardboard box and I wrap my grubby hands around it and pull it out. I take one out and throw the packet to the side, lighting my cigarette on the fire in front of me and after taking one long, meaningful drag I exhale. I feel the smoke slither down my throat and wrap around my lungs, tightly squeezing and releasing. I was never a keen smoker but times have changed and sometimes this small stick of cancer is all I have to look forward to.

I scratch my forehead with my free hand and unconsciously turn my head to see a bottle of whisky poking out of my small pack, its rusted lid tempting me to open it. I frown and continue to stare at it. I would be lying if I denied the fact that my mouth dried up and I felt sick at the sight of it. The finest Scotch whiskey there was, no doubt; I managed to barter it off a fellow inmate in my cell block for a silver watch of mine that my daughter gave to me before I was sentenced. Soon after that, shit hit the fan and I've regretted that decision and never touched the whiskey since then. I vowed I'd open it when I could never open it again. That day was arriving quicker than I anticipated.

I fall asleep sometime later, can't tell when.

* * *

I hear a horse. It's too near for comfort and my left hand goes to my blade and my right goes to my pistol immediately, gripping onto both with a white knuckle grip. I mutter a curse under my breath and dive into the nearest bushes, keeping silent. My breathing is shallow and labored and my heart pounds in my chest threatening to break through its rib-cage. I hear the tumbling of bricks and the sound of a body hitting stone, my breath hitches and my eyebrows rise in question but I don't move. A minute passes exactly and a horse comes galloping straight past my hiding place, kicking up dirt and leaves in the air towards my direction but otherwise completely missing me. I give it a moment more before stepping out, checking left and right to see if the commotion disturbed anything nearby, but its silent accept for the occasional gust of wind or the sound of an animal. I feel unusually rattled, and as I step out a twig snaps underneath me and I gasp and freeze. I scold myself afterwards and move in the direction the horse came from.

I'm nearing the start of the river; I can hear the trickle of the stream. I near the edge of the cliff overlooking the small shallow lake, and I peer over scanning the area. I'm too wrapped up in what's going to notice the beauty of it all. If I'd stopped and focused I could pretend that the outside world didn't exist, and there was no such thing as the walking dead. It's a childish wish and I shake it out of my head the moment it arrives and focus.

The area is clear, and I don't see anything initially, but I stare closer and note a lone body at the shore. I focus a little and I presume he's dead, and some dark part of me hopes he his, but I hold my breath and I can faintly hear him cursing as he tries to drag himself and his weapon towards the muddy hill. I frown and squint, and it's then I notice a crippled figure dragging itself across the waters not so far away from the man with the crossbow, moaning and groaning as its decrepit fingers reach towards its potential dinner. I can practically hear its mouth salivating from here. The target is too far away to risk a gunshot but if I try to make my way down there's no guarantee I'll get to him in time without injuring myself too. I sigh in exasperation as my body begins to rip itself apart immediately at the dilemma. I bite my lip so hard it draws blood.

Should I move on? My mind is telling me to, trying to convince me that life is better on my own. That it'd be easier on me by not burdening myself with another human to look after and care for. I haven't done well so far, I've taken people in before and if they hadn't gotten themselves killed by their own stupidity, they almost get me killed in the process. I've buried more friends than I've helped in my travels. I've learnt that I don't need anyone else. And I don't; I've survived this long and the road I've planned doesn't end with a happy ever after. It never will be any better and I don't want to drag anyone else down to where I'm going.

But my heart?

Well that's what's making my feet move right now.

I slide down the side of the cliff messily, sending logs, stones and dirt sliding everywhere as I struggle to keep my balance on the way down. My fingers scramble around and they try to latch onto different vines and trees, but they only shred my palms and I can feel the cuts burning but I ignore it. My jeans tear down one of the sides and my blouse is torn down the middle, exposing my stomach and chest but I don't even think about it, my hat got lost when I first jumped in the bush but my own personal look and well-being is not on my mind at the moment. Not like it ever was really.

The water beneath me approaches quickly, and in the last few feet I take a leap of desperation as I see the walker within a few feet of its meal.

But I mess up.

I land on my feet, but my left ankle juts horribly to the right and snaps with a loud crack. The bone breaks completely and I feel it tear through my skin. I scream and howl in pain and fall to my hands and knees, tears pricking at my eyes. The tight boots I normally wear are the only thing that is keeping the ankle in its place I presume and I pray to the gods I don't get eaten like a wounded animal. I look up and see the biter upon the body and I scream in hatred as I think I'm too late. I muster all my strength and manage to crawl forward a little more, withdrawing my pistol and aiming. The pain shooting up my leg is making me spasm in shock and my arm shakes violently, there's no way I can get a clear shot guaranteed. I see the biter gnawing, growling in delight. Visions spring back of my past. Of my friends. Of my family.

Of my daughter.

I push myself up and screech in pain again, but I drag my left foot and hobble forward. I holster my pistol and take out my knife. I use my last drags of strength and knock the walker off, falling on top of it in the process by accident. I dodge its mindlessly swinging arms and I use my knife to bludgeon its skull. I'm too mixed up in a rage of pain and anger to notice that I'm not even using the blade and that I'm only using the hilt, but it gets the job done either way. I eventually stop when I feel its arms and body goes limp. Its head looks like it's been through a meat grinder, its skull and brain reduced to a red pink and green pigmented mush. It smells as good as it looks.

I'm panting heavily, and my eyes are wild, darting around in front of me like some sort of physco. I feel a little faint, not just from exhaustion but because I know my left boot is filling up with blood as I sit here. I grunt in discomfort as I roll myself off the body, temporarily forgetting about the victim I tried so hard to save. I presume he's dead, or at least soon will be and I don't want to even contemplate what will happen after. I should put a bullet in his skull now, but I steal myself a few moments rest. I think I deserved it.

I look up into the blue sky and the light that peeks through the trees. There's no other unnatural sound apart from my shallow breathing and pounding heartbeat. I hear the trickle of the stream, the chirp of the birds, the sounds of distant animals. I close my eyes and sleep almost claims me quicker than I expected but I shoot my eyes up and sit up. I kick my left boot off and peel my blood soaked sock off carefully, being sure not to tear the bone that is sticking attractively out. I've never really been squeamish, and especially not after the outbreak but I'm close to throwing up as I stare at the torn flesh and jagged snapped bone. I pick up a nearby branch, thick enough to not snap as easily as a stick and I put it in my mouth and bite down.

I breathe in and out once, then I begin push the bone back in.

I whine and growl like a bitch being put down and the blood practically pours out in waves, tainting the water with an eerie red tinge. I'm sure tears are streaming from my eyes but I'm far too lost in pain in to care. The bone grinds and crunches and I dry heave a few times, from the branch in my mouth or the sight of my own bone I'm not sure. Once the bone is in as far as it can go I grab the sock and wrap it tightly around the ankle and tie it in an attempt to keep it in. I roll my ankle around a few times and I poke the ground with my foot to test it, and it seems to hold fairly well. It's not the first time I've hurt my ankle but it certainly original of me for the bone to pop out. I put my boot carefully back on, making sure to tighten the laces on it considerably to make sure nothing breaks, snaps, tears, pops or cracks again. It gets so tight that the pain ebbs a little when I start to lose feeling of my lower foot.

_Shame this was all in vain._ My mind taunts me. _This could have all been avoided._

I want to forget the thoughts but they hold a deep truth to them. I groan inwardly.

I have something to take care of.

I stare at my combat knife and see it broken, snapped in half and twisted horribly. I throw the piece I have into the bush and I withdraw my pistol again and click the safety off. I crawl over to where the body was meant to be.

Meant to be.

My mind panics and I scan the trees and forests quickly. I see no sign of anything, though I hold the gun close. I see no footsteps or any sign that anything was here. I swallow a lump in my throat. What if he turned? Why didn't I pull the trigger on him quicker? I wonder if he did turn and wondered off; surely he would have seen or smelled the blood on me first. I should be the main course on a biters dinner menu right now; the gods know I'm ready to be served.

"If you plan on shootin' me… you'd better not miss."

I hear someone croak. My head snaps around to the right of me to find the man I've been looking for on his hands and knees a few feet away from me, barely with it himself. He looks at me with a tired, challenging stare almost daring me to try and do it. He's not even armed and by the looks of the arrow jutting out of his side he's injured too.

There's a standoff between us two, nothing physical but there's a thick tension. Our eyes connect for what seems like hours and I search is face for any sign of sincerity in his words. I can't tell whether he's joking or genuinely looking for death. I've made the mistake of getting them mixed up before.

"Were you bit?"

I'm surprised at my own voice. I almost forgot what it sounded like. It'd been a long time since I'd open my mouth to speak to a fellow human being and my voice sounded like a gravely, young, scared schoolgirl talking to a boy for the first time. I kept my face and expression cool and level anyway, and even though I was sitting down I kept the gun pointed at him.

"Nah'." He wheezes, using one of his hands to try and stop the blood flow from his side, wincing and cursing as he does so. I look again and I don't think he's even trying to stem the blood flow, I think he's just patting it so the pain helps him stay conscious. Smart move I guess.

"Didn't want to put you down anyhow." I sigh, putting the gun in its holster even though he's a complete stranger whom I've never met before. But really? We're both cut up and bleeding to high hell and chances are we'll both probably bleed out together.

"Ain't I lucky." He drawls grimly as he tries to sit down comfortably with an arrow in his side. I watch him for a couple of moments as he struggles and then loses his patience. He cusses loudly and then rips the arrow right out of him, shouting as he does so. I merely sit there and raise my eyebrows in surprise. He pants for a little bit before catching my stare.

"What? Don't think I daint' see you tearin' yer' bones apart tryna' push that son'a'bitch back in." He groggily uses the bloody arrow and gestures towards my ankle. I grunt tiredly and run my hands across my face. How did this day end up like this? It was a normal dead day (I smile at my choice of words), I go hunting and I come across a complete stranger who I break my ankle trying to save. I've never stuck my neck out like this for anyone else before, when did things change?

After a couple more moments I use the log next to me as support as I pull myself up, swearing a little but I stand up. I only put a little weight on my left foot and a shot of pain runs up my leg. I hope I'll be able to hobble back to where I left the remains of my makeshift camp. I take a few limping steps past him half expecting him to jump and kill me, but he doesn't, he only watches me blankly as I walk past.

"What's ya' name?"

The tone of voice stops me. I turn around and see him still on his knees, looking at me with a well hidden pleading stare. I only know because I've seen it before, when someone wants your help, but is too shy, proud or stubborn to ask for it. I used to use it a lot myself.

"Texas." I whisper.

"Huh. Nice name." His voice is raspy and cracks slightly, probably from dehydration or just the shock of this all.

"It's not my name, but it's where I'm heading. It's less personal if people call me that instead." I stand there a few seconds longer and there's nothing but silence between us two. I gather that's my queue to leave. I take another few steps forward before his voice stops me again.

"Ya' know you won't make it very far with that ankle, right?"

I lose my patience, and frowning I turn around, planning to tell him to shove it; that I can do fine on my own and that I don't need his advice after I just saved his life. But I stop myself, because he's right. There's nothing but rocky crevasses and muddy hills around us with no clear way up. I feel drowsy and light headed anyway; if I was to try and climb I'd only fall and there would be no guarantee that I would get back up again, not before walkers found me anyway.

"Well what do you propose?" It's an empty question and I don't expect an easy reply, but he surprises me. He looks at me with a stare that shows he's trying to decide whether to tell me something or not. He battles with himself internally and eventually he opens his mouth.

"There's a farm not too far from here. Me an' a few folk are holding up there. There's a doc. 'Could help you with your ankle then you could be on your way I guess…" He shrugs his shoulders idly and doesn't take his eyes off the ground, barely muttering the words like a little boy being told off.

I appreciate the thought, but there's a floor in his plan. I'm not stupid and I know my ankle could take weeks to heal back up and even by some miracle I can walk again then long distance travelling is definitely not going to be on the list. My heart contracts painfully at the thought of me not making it back to Texas but I decide to face the tough reality later. I wonder how many folks he has at the farm; surely it's not safe in such an open environment. One, the more people there are the higher the chance a horde'll ride past and sniff them out. Two, I and people don't get on well together. Nothing personal but I don't want to have someone else's life my responsibility or problem. Do they even have look outs? Scouts? Traps? A hideout or cover at least? I don't have a problem with getting patched up but the idea of it all has me hesitating.

I mentally kick myself in the leg and remind myself that I won't be staying there long, snapped ankle or no snapped ankle. It shouldn't matter to me and I manage to convince myself that I'm only looking out for my own hide and being sensible.

"That's nice and dandy, but I have a foot that's barely hanging on by ligaments and you have hole through your side the size of a quarter. We're not exactly in fighting shape, and how are we even going to get to this place from down here? " I don't want to put a downer on things, not since today has been going so _brilliantly_ so far, but it was a realistic point.

He only grunts and I watch him shakily use his crossbow to help himself up before slinging it over his back, and when he does his eyes glass over a little and he rocks side to side. For a moment I think he'll topple over, but again he proves me wrong. He shakes his head once and looks at me again, like my point was stupid and that we're getting out of this alive one way or another. I find it empowering but worrying.

"I was jus' workin' on that."

I hear rustling in the distant trees and when his head snaps up I know he hears it too.

"We're about a few minutes away from being served on porcelain with apples in our mouths and garnish on our asses to a wave of walkers; we better work on it a little quicker."

I hobble over to where he's standing and look around with him and there's only our uneven breathing for a few minutes as we desperately look around. I don't see any possible way to get out of this without having to climb upwards and I look at his expression once and I know he knows it too. He looks back at me too and without a moments warning just strides up to the start of the hill and starts climbing. I stare at him dumbly for a few moments and he gets about a foot up before looking over his shoulder slightly.

"You comin' or what?" He says it patronizingly and I roll my eyes, walking up to the left of where he's climbing.

"Sure let me just sprout some wings and catch up with ya'."

He groans and I think he hates having to look after other people as much as I do. It's from here I catch sight of the doll in his belt. I raise an eyebrow but I decide it's neither the time nor my place to ask. Could be a memento of his dead kids for all I know and the last thing I want is to have that conversation now.

It's only as I look back at him I see his hand waving in my face, holding it out in a silent offer. For some reason I think about just walking away now, it would be easier for the both of us. But I accept and I can feel him using all of his remaining strength to help me up. I use my left knee instead of my foot to help stabilize myself from falling. It's uncomfortable and the rocks dig into my knee bone, but I try to ignore it. I get a stable grip and I catch his eye as I find my footing and he awkwardly smiles at me. I give a lopsided smile back and continue up. I don't know how long this is going to take, or if it's even going to be worth it when we get up top. I think I'd have preferred to take my chances with the walkers. Less agony that way.

* * *

It's been a good hour and we're almost up, but we're struggling badly. We're grunting like animals in slaughter and almost screaming in agony. My hands are still shredded from the earlier ride down, and they're not fairing much better on the way up either. If I was sweating before, I'm damn right drowning now. I'm way to delirious with exhaustion and pain to know what's going on or what I'll do when we get to this farm, I don't think I even care anymore. I think about just falling back and seeing if the fall kills me, but the thought of it not and me being left to the biters mercy keeps me going. I chance a glance at my new 'partner' and I think the same thoughts are running through his head as he looks below. But he pays the long drop no notice and powers himself up. The expression on his face is telling me he's like me. Like me in that something is keeping him going. Probably not the thought of a gruesome death, but it's something.

I hear another grunt from him, and I think nothing of it, until I hear rocks echoing down the slope and him cussing. He pauses alongside me and I barely have any time to process what's going on until I see branch he was hanging onto snap and he topples backwards. I see _his_ life flash before his eyes and I yelp for someone reason as everything seems to slow down and he starts to fall.

Almost starts to fall.

I catch him by the front of his shirt at the last second and though it threatens to rip, both the shirt and the vine I'm hanging on it, they both hold and I pull him forward until he grabs back onto something. He begins to regain his footing and he does we both take a moment just staring emptily at the dirt in front of us trying to steady our own heartbeats and process what might have happened. I glance across and I see the realisation that he almost died flash over his face. There was no way either one of us would have survived that fall. He breathes out deeply before flashing a look at me.

"Thanks." He exhales quietly. I can barely hear it through the blood pumping in my ears from the shock of everything but it was there and I knew it was sincere. It wasn't just thanks you gave when someone holds the door open for you or hands you your car keys, it had a hardened depth to it. Or perhaps I'm just far too lost in all of this to know anything anymore. I smile a little in his direction, but I'm sure he misses it as he continues to climb up without another word.

We're barely a foot away from the top, and a strange flash of hope swims through me as I reach for the last rock in front of me and I finally manage to pull myself up. I awkwardly roll myself up and collapse immediately on the ground panting. I vaguely see him crawl up a minute later before I hear his body thump to the ground like my own. We pant like dogs and my lungs are burning like the Georgian sun. My lips are dry and cracked, my throat is raspy and sore and I feel as if I'm firing up with a fever. I'm sure I'm as red as a beetroot and look about as attractive as one too. I look to my left.

"…I… never… got your… name…" I gasp like a goldfish out of water between the words.

He seems caught off guard by the question and stares at me strangely for a few moments before returning his gaze back to the sky.

"Daryl… pleased… to fucking… meet ya'."

There's a small silence between us before we both chuckle quietly, happy with our own personal victory over the forces of nature and gravity. Or we're just too high off our rockers to notice anything else. He looks at me smiling, or his own version of it, he doesn't look used to it. With the agony, possible wound infection and exhaustion I don't think we're even going to make it back to this farm. But he soon rolls over and scrambles up messily, using a tree as support for a minute before beginning to walk away.

"If… we wanna' make it back before sunset… ugh…" he coughs and spits on the ground to what I can only presume is blood "We better start …movin'... Walkers are all… over this place… and…I have…to…find…find…Soph-."

He sways side to side and murmurs something incoherently.

He collapses.

* * *

And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts,

And I looked and behold: a pale horse.

And his name, that sat on him, was Death.

And Hell followed with him.


	2. Gods Gonna Cut You Down

And I heard as it were the noise of thunder  
One of the four beasts saying come and see and I saw  
And behold a white horse

* * *

"Shit…"

My heart sticks in my throat and I lose my ability to talk. My mouth dries up and it feels like I'm choking on the very air that's trying to help me. I frown in confusion, lost in the moment, wondering where everything went downhill so quickly. I want to groan like a petulant teenager, I'm tired and just want to sleep. I've done my good deed for the day, so why won't it end already?

"…ugh…in for a penny…"

I roll on my front without another thought. I dig my fingers into the soft, moist earth below and I pull myself forward, knees scraping and ankle dragging behind me. I can feel the mud and dirt that cakes my hands, front and knees slowing me down but I push forward, somehow determined to save this one man who I owe nothing. I'm not even sure why I'm still here, I've saved this man's life once… no twice. And yet here I still am.

_Why do I care so much? _

_Have I missed the company of a human being this much? _

The crawl barely takes 15 seconds yet it feels like forever, willing my body past the point of decay and exhaustion to see if I can help this one soul. I reach him and I claw at his body, pulling myself over his chest clumsily to see if I can hear anything,_ anything_ to show he's alive. My hands freeze on his chest when I don't feel it rising. The light wind whistles in my ears and my hair, what little there was of it, and it brushes softly against my forehead. I don't know anything on how to resuscitate people. I look left and right, we must be deep in the forest, no chance that the farms anywhere near. I… I don't know…

_Oh lord, spare me some of your mercy and help me for damn once! _

5, 10, 20, 30, 35, 40 seconds before I hear I small intake of breath. It's small, barely there and I would have missed it had I not been holding my own breath. I pause and don't move, temporarily paralyzed as I don't believe my ears. I wait another couple of seconds and there was the smallest exhale of breath. I breathe out long and hard and sit up as well as I could. I wait a few minutes and when I hear his breathing steadying I close my eyes and thank whoever the hell just helped me out. I hear the crunch of a twig in the distance and they snap back open, constantly darting around at the slightest sound knowing all too well we're a sitting meal here. Combine that with the amount of blood we're both pouring out I might as well ring a dinner bell.

I keep staring, patting, slapping his face to see if he comes to, but there's no sign of anything but unconsciousness. Sleeping beauty isn't going to wake for a while it seems. No choice but to wait it out and hope something else doesn't find us first.

I feel something wet slip down my cheek, blood probably (though I felt no cut on my head) and I brush it away and wipe my hand on my duster, laughing solemnly at the sorry state it's in. It wasn't in the best of conditions before, but now it's nothing but a leathery piece of cloth barely holding together by reused strands of thread. I slip out of it and hold it up to the few rays of light that poke through the branches above me. I stroke the patches on it, each one holding its own individual story.

A notice a large rectangle one near the bottom that was from a machete. I got to close to a woman who recently lost her husband. Hell hath no fury like a woman's scorn that's was for damn sure. Never found out what happened to her. I frown and look at the top. There's a small square one near the shoulder, from a gunshot, a kid surprisingly. Had to be no older than 17. I helped him find his family, or what remained of it. He… didn't get to see 18. My scowl deepens and I turn it around, and see one large pair of claw marks straight from the top right hand side to bottom left hand corner. No need to explain what that was from. I almost joined the ranks of the living dead that day if it wasn't for this leather duster. It saved my life more times than anyone else did.

I sigh and stare hopelessly at it, then at the man next to me. What was his name again? …Daryl.

"Could have at least told me where your farm was first before you decided to have a nap Daryl." I chuckle dryly. I would laugh at how pathetic I was being, talking to something that couldn't talk back. It proved no use and provided little comfort. I mean many moons ago I would have killed anyone like-

I hear a groan. I drop my coat and withdraw my pistol immediately and spin my head left and right, it cracking violently but I ignore it. There's no sign of anything in the trees, though I can't see much through the thick swampy vines and brushes. I always wondered how I would go if my plans changed, but being eaten like a deer caught in a trap was not one of the ways I had hoped to. A few deadly silent moments pass and then there's another moan. It's close, real close. Almost-

I want to laugh loudly at my stupidity. I stare down, smiling for once, at the face below me. He's coming to, rolling his head left to right and murmuring quietly. I holster my pistol and I lean in close, so my ear is above his lips. There's nothing understandable at first, just confused ramblings like someone else is speaking to him.

"Merle…screw you … I don't need to be… baby-sitted." Frowning, I raise my head. His eyes are vaguely open and staring at the sky, I notice they're glassy and bloodshot. He gulps heavily and shuts his eyes again. I raise an eyebrow and stare over him again, tapping his face.

"Daryl?" I use his name, if it really was that, to see if there's any other legible response. I slap his face gently again. If I could at least get the location of this farm I could work something out. I can't even remember where I am at the moment.

"Shut up…"

"Daryl…" I say again, losing a little of my patience and turning his face a left and right but his face showed no sign of recognition of…anything. He doesn't respond, just continues to ramble on aimlessly about this Merle leaving him. He looks at me a few times but stares right through me. Other than that I might as well not be here.

He was delirious.

This day just would not end quickly enough.

* * *

It was about an hour and a half later before the ramblings stop.

I was in the midst of ripping up my old blouse I was wearing for rags; I used one for around my ankle, two for around my sliced palms and a large proportion of it for a pretty nasty gash around my right thigh, the rest of the cuts were not that important. It didn't bother me that I was topless save for underwear, but only that it was a little windy and I was a skinned meal without something else on. Daryl had started to move quite profusely during his episode, so I put my coat underneath his head earlier to stop him damaging himself. The quiet squeak of leather and skin was what told me he was still there, but there was nothing but a long deafening silence. I stopped what I was doing and froze. I couldn't hear anything and that's what worried me. I crawled over to where he was and waited. He was breathing clearly now, like he was _sleeping_.

I pat him on the cheek, and to my relief he starts to stir, groaning a little before he tries to sit up. He's groggy and irritated, looking at me like I had just rudely awoken him from a nap. I try to help him by assisting him in sitting up, but he swats my hands away childishly.

"I don't need ya' goddamn…ugh… help." He pats his side and flinches at the pain. It takes him a second to notice a piece of cloth tied and pressed around him. He gingerly reaches out and touches the cloth, inspecting it closely. He frowns then looks at me, and notices my attire or my lack thereof. He raises an eyebrow in question, but I don't answer straight away, only focusing on tying my laces on my boot again.

"You were bleeding a lot, so I used what was left of my blouse as a bandage. Didn't have much else to use." I talk meekly, pulling the one strap a little harder than necessary before standing up with the support of a tree. The blood rushes to my head quickly, and I take a moment to steady myself, swallowing deeply and turning around.

"How long was I out?" He leaves the padded wound alone and just stares blankly at me.

"Close to 2 hours." I mumble, limping over and picking the duster coat back up and placing it on. He begins to connect the dots again and realises I must have used the duster as a headrest for him. His look softens and he appears grateful but somehow still looks harsh. I avoid his stare and talk again. "If these friends are any kind of smart they'll be worrying for ya' since you've been out this long. You best be heading off."

He nods his head and gets up, rather shakily but he doesn't fall down again. He picks up his crossbow and loads it with the very arrow that injured him before hobbling a few feet. He must not have heard my footsteps because he stops for a moment and peers over his shoulder again. He seems to lose his patience, what little there was of it, and snaps quietly. Even though his voice is barely there and sounds more like a choking dog, his voice still holds a certain bark to it.

"I'm gettin' pretty tired of checkin' if you're behind me. Are you comin' or not?"

I match his stare for a moment and quickly weigh up the options in my head. What small ones they were anyway. With this ankle I ain't going very far, but it's not saying that his folk'll exactly let me waltz in and heal me. I don't _exactly_ want to come into contact with anyone else anyway, not since my first try at it today didn't go very well. But if I'm going to get injured saving one life, the least someone else can do help mine.

I wave my hand in front and gesture for him to continue. His eyes are untrusting and I see his fingers subtly twitch on his crossbow. He doesn't move for a few seconds and I feel things getting tense. I roll my eyes dramatically and groan; I forgot how untrusting people were. Not just after the world went to shit but before too. But even after I helped this man? I sigh and stare at the ground, before staring back up at him again.

"I ain't going very far with this ankle." I quote him and shrug. I kick my ass in gear and move up beside him and he hesitates for a minute. His eyes scan over my pistol once, before he starts to walk. Other than the occasional side glance, he doesn't even acknowledge I'm there.

* * *

"Can I ask you a question?" I ask gingerly as we trudge through a particularly muddy part of the swamp. It stinks like rotting flesh, and I don't want to particularly know why, resulting to breathing through my nose instead.

"…now?" He stares at me like I just asked him to dance, but he keeps moving nonchalantly.

"What, should I buy you a drink first?" I grunt.

He doesn't reply, and had the positions been reversed I wouldn't have either. I scold myself for trying to joke, now of all times. Jack used to point out that it used to be one of my good traits, being able to joke in times of strife in all that.

_Hmph. Jack. A small skinny woman named that after her large array of skills. 'Jack of all trades'. Taught me how to lockpick once. She got transferred after she strangled a guard with her belt after he tried to sexually harass her. I never saw her again._

Jack always saw the good in people… perhaps I could learn a thing from her.

"I've got within 10 feet of people I've helped and they've gone out of their way to try and kill me out of paranoia. How come you haven't tried?"

I ask the question anyway, wanting to know why everything is so… _different_. It's all so strange and doesn't make sense. I save a man I don't even know from _one_ walker, he tells me where _his_ group and _he_ is staying, we both make it this far _together_ with near _fatal_ injuries and it's like another day at the office. Like we've been _friends_ all of our lives and _supporting_ each other through this. It's not necessarily a _bad_ thing but… it's _different_.

He thinks for a moment and doesn't look at me.

"Would you like me to?"

I see his point and shut up.

Perhaps it was a stupid question, or now is not the time.

* * *

An hour later the forest starts to thin out again and it gets lighter. I start to see a field, nothing too exciting but it looks like it's been sent from heaven itself when I've been stuck in this damp, putrid forest so long. I feel like kissing the ground in desperation but I settle for smiling a little and continuing to move forward.

I'm surprised we haven't bumped into any undead but I'm still wary, walker-free farm close or not. My ankle throbs like crazy and I've been struggling to walk on it for the past 30 minutes. I've had to have Daryl's support in helping me walk. To be honest, I think we've both been supporting each other as we both can barely stand anyway. He too seems to relax a little as we near the field, nothing too big but I can feel his shoulders start to slump a little and the muscles in his arm around my side relax. He's struggling badly, barely keeping himself straight let alone me as well but he sees the field as well and I'm sure he feels how I do. He stops just as we get to the edge and nods with his head towards the farmhouse in the distance.

"There it…is…"

His voice wavers a little and shakes, I look from the farmhouse to his face and I see his eyes start to glass over a little again. He tries to say something else but he nothing but a croak comes out. I remove his arm from around my waist and he wobbles for a moment and points towards the farmhouse again. Then he falls down.

_Oh god not again._

I curse the Big Man up top a little longer than necessary and make a split decision in my mind. There have been no walkers this close to the farm so far, so I decide to risk leaving him there and seeing if these folks are as helpful as they seem. I limp into the field slowly. Blinded by the light I raise my arms in front of my eyes to shield them, ambling on towards the direction Daryl pointed in. I'm no spring chicken at the moment and though I'm not moving faster than an average dead-man, I'm moving faster than pain should allow me.

My vision is blurred, the heat and exhaustion starting to kick back in and my lungs struggle to function in the humidity. My hearing sounds like I'm underwater, but I hear a call in the distance. I can't understand it but I hope, _pray_, someone's noticed me and is coming to help us out. If not me then at least Daryl, I want to know I didn't suffer all this for nothing. I want to see this through to the end.

I lower my arms slightly and see figures running towards me. They're blurry as hell, and they seem to almost merge as one but I know they're moving towards me. They get closer and closer, and I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out but a shrill of pain. Not caused by my ankle.

I hear a bullet whip past my head. For a moment I think it missed but I feel the burning metal scrape past the side of my skull and the impact sends me to floor. My head snaps in the direction the bullet drives to and I fall onto my front. There's a small blood puddle of the floor right next to my face, and it takes me a few long seconds to realise it's my own and I shudder. My vision starts to dim and even though I hear the heavy thud of footsteps get closer and closer I strangely feel relaxed. I finally deserve some rest.

I feel my body get turned over and even though my vision is swimming, I vaguely see faces looking down at me in confusion. Panicked shouts fill my ears, I make out a couple.

"ANDREA! NO!"

"That isn't a walker!"

"She' alive?"

"Where's Daryl?"

_Daryl…I know Daryl…I think I do…_

"_Daryl… I helped… brought back…forest… the doll…" _

I feel stabs of pain throughout my body, then a sudden weightless feeling, light, like I'm floating. I feel the wind whip against my cheek as I feel my body throttle up and down. The fields seem to whiz by, fading. My limbs dangle like snapped branches around me and it all feels pleasant…I would have loved to live here… with my family…

Strong arms are around the back of my knees and around my shoulders. I realise it now. I may be on the brink of unconsciousness but I know I'm being carried. I wonder why I…

Blackness.

* * *

Warm covers, soft sheets and a full pillow. It's the first thing I feel.

A throbbing headache, tense muscles and a throat wrenching ache. That's the second thing I feel.

My eyes peak open slowly, and the room is filled with a cosy orange glow peeking through the window on the other side of the room. My vision is a little blurry but I look around me, noticing the old wooden furniture and antique lamps. I see old photographs on the walls and dressers, though I cannot see what is specifically on them from here.

Where the hell am I? Is this that farmhouse? Did I make it…?

There's no-one in the room with me to ask, but I can hear hushed murmurs and whispers from behind the door, though I cannot make any of them out. I feel trapped, unsure of what to do next. Do I get up and just leave? Do I make myself known? Undoubtedly they'll ask for my name, identity, age, home, whatever the hell my mother's maiden name was and shit like that. Not like it mattered. I'm leaving first opportunity I get.

I throw the covers off me, exposing my naked legs to the colder air, causing them to rise up in goose-bumps. I shiver and it's then I notice I'm only in underwear. I raise my eyebrows in surprise, especially when I notice my ankle all clean and bandaged up. My mouth hangs in astonishment. In fact, it's then I realise all my cuts have been cleaned up; my ankle, the shot on my head, the cuts on my knees, the gash on my thigh, even my palms have clean bandages around them. I'm all…tidy. I don't think I have been this neat in weeks. I run my hands through short hair and even that's soft again; brittle from lack of treatment, but soft. It hasn't been like that since I first broke out. I touch the gun wound next to my left temple, and though it was only a scratch it took about an inch wide and 8cm long scrap of hair off. I was never really keen on my hair anyway, but it was practical to keep it short. Might not have been attractive, but I wasn't looking for opinions.

I lower my hand when I hear the whispers get louder and it starts to sounds more like an argument than like a quiet meeting.

"Well it'll take her another week for her ankle to heal properly Rick, and until then she won't even be able to reach the end of the farm, let alone Texas! I want to talk to her first; I was the one who shot her."

I keep silent and put the covers back over me, but I sit up and listen more closely.

"That's not our problem anymore; once she's in the safe again we'll be sending her on her way, you can say you're sorry then."

Another voice, somewhat patronizing but I can see his point. Once I'm ready I'll be walking back out in the wastes again, only somewhat slower than what I was doing before. I can finally put this hell behind me and focus again.

"This isn't just about saying sorry Shane. I shot a woman who tried to help us! I'm going in."

I hear the door handle click and I hold my breath in anticipation but it stops mid-turn.

"You don't know whether she's dangerous or not. Yeah sure she might have saved Daryl, doesn't mean she's in a rush to welcome you after almost killing her."

So I _was _shot. I don't know whether to smile at her miss or frown at her attempt, but she thought she shot a walker without a second thought to protect her friends. I can respect that.

"Shanes right. We have no idea what this woman's capable of."

_Not very much at the moment._

I want to laugh at his paranoia. My ankle may be bandaged up but that doesn't mean that I'm about to jump out the bed and start hunting for blood. I just want out of here for damns sake!

"Daryl said she saved his life at least 3 times today, broke her ankle nearly in half to save him from _one_ walker. She pushed herself past the point of _exhaustion_ to bring him back to the group-."

"And then you shot her. We get it Andrea; we really do but just let this one go. We don't know her and we-"

"Owe her at least a damn apology!"

Deafening silence. I feel like a child whose parents are arguing. I feel out of place and uncomfortable, like an unwanted ornament or a guest who has overstayed their welcome. There was no more said as the door clicks and opens with a slow creak. The woman I presume to be Andrea pokes her head in slowly and focus' on me straight away.

She seems sullen, quiet, and strangely surprised… probably at me being awake, and slowly closes the door behind her. Edging her way slowly towards me, she seems every bit uncomfortable as I feel and stops next to the dresser a few feet away from me and starts to fiddle with the bottom hem of her shirt. I want to laugh and tell her I'm too tired, bruised and aching to even bother thinking about it let alone attempting to scold her, but she opens her mouth before I can.

"I heard about what you did for Daryl, and though no else seems to be able to say it, thank you..."

Her stare is intense but grateful so I avoid it. I look down at the sheets instead, seeing my fingernails as suddenly interesting, and also finding that my hands seem so much younger without all the grime and dirt in them.

"Before Rick and the others come charging in demanding answers, I wanted to talk…I…I wanted to say one thing."

I look at her, and I know what she's going to do next. Her eyes look sorrowful and her mouth is in a grim line and I know exactly what she's going to say. I've used the same expression before. I hope she doesn't do what I know she will and shouts at me, screams at me for being stupid instead. I can handle that. But apologies? Do I say it's alright and everything continues on merrily? Or do I spit in her face and hate her, for a mere accident she was not aware of? I sigh and nod once and she takes it as a queue to talk.

"I…" She looks at the ground once and back up at me, swallowing a lump in her throat. "…I shot you…out there. I didn't mean it, I thought… I just thought…" She lets her head hang and her blonde locks fall around her face as she presses her lips together.

"I was a walker?" Andrea looks up at me and for a moment just stares blankly. I'm surprised at myself for opening my mouth but I continue. "I don't hate you for what you did. It hurt like a bastard that's no lie, and atop of my injuries a hello would have been preferred…" She still looks pained, but a small smile sparks. "You don't owe me anything…"

"No, I saw what happened to Daryl and I really feel-"

My memory kicks back in place and I remember. The southern man with the crossbow.

"Who was he looking for?"

Another silence as she frowns at me, mouth still hanging open. Gaping like a fish she doesn't answer me for a moment.

"…what?"

"That man… Daryl… who was he looking for?"

She leaves her mouth hanging as I rudely interrupt, but it was a question I had to ask because somehow along the lines I managed to solve the little puzzle going off in my head. Going through all that pain, the doll in his jeans, the name he tried to say before he first collapsed… was it his daughter? Was he looking for _his _daughter? Or somebody else's? Andrea takes a moment to think before answering.

"I'm… We're… We're looking for a little girl, Sophia... she's Carol's daughter."

"Carol's daughter?" I repeat staring at her, trying to gage any sort of tip that she was fooling around or had made a mistake. Andrea nods slowly in response. I take a minute to myself. "How long have you been looking?"

"A few days."

I don't ask another question as my mouth moulds into a thin line.

After a few days you're looking for a body…you're lucky if it's just a body nowadays.

I'm too tired to find some part of me to care about this woman, but I know what she's going through. The torture of not knowing whether she's alive or dead… whether it's even worth the energy to search… only to find out she's… she's… There's an eerie silence between us.

"Why are you so interested? You've helped us enough don't you think?"

_Yes._

_What? _

_No!_

I snap.

"And so what, just leave? If there's more I can do I'll do it. I'm fed up of…" I throw the covers off me, and they land on the floor to the right softly. I flick my legs over the side of the bed. "…running away from problems… You need help in the search; I'll throw my hand in."

"No offence, but you're hardly in the condition to help…"

I'm hardly aware that I'm injured, or even that I've barely got anything on. I've got the strongest feeling of determination than I've had for a long damn time and for the 50th time this day I'm not even sure why I care, but I don't even care that I don't care. I'm helping, whether my body allows it or not.

I stand up, and immediately regret it. My vision swims and my legs give way causing me to collapse on the floor with the harsh sound of flesh slapping against wood. Andrea gasps and falls too in an attempt to stop me. Putting her arms undermine, she tries to help me up but struggles herself and barely gets me back on the bed. We both land sitting on the bed with a soft thump and pant for a moment.

"…I…see your point."

She smiles at me warmly though I have not the heart to return it. I find myself at a loss of what to say or do next. I lived by myself for the past year and known nothing but to care for my own skin and to look out for myself. I've never really had anyone with me long enough to know any different. And making idle conversation?

I run my hands over my face and for a couple of minutes and neither of us don't move. There's an awkward silence and it's now I realise there's the quite hum of a busy household around me. I can hear small chatter, the clatter of plates, and the hiss of a stove…all small things but things I've surprisingly missed. All I need is the clanging of metal bars and the cocky whistle of the jail warden and I'll feel like I'm at home again.

After a few more moments of staring into nothingness, Andrea breaks the silence.

"I should get you some clothes or something…I'll… I'll tell Rick and Shane you're asleep so they leave you alone. They can be a bit…overbearing with new-comers. But maybe you can help; God knows we need it in times like these."

She gives me one last glance and stands up without another word, walking towards the door and turning the handle.

"Andrea?"

Turning her head she looks at me expectantly.

"Thank you."

She smiles once and closes the door behind her.

* * *

And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts,

And I looked and behold: a pale horse.

And his name, that sat on him, was Death.

And Hell followed with him.

* * *

**A/N:****I really don't know why but this chapter was like giving birth i swear. Thank you to **eatate** ,**what evil lurks **and **Red Alyk **for taking the time to review. Means alot. Danke. **


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